‘Amen,’ intoned all present, except me. I was intending to cast my cares on the Miss Millers.
The meeting relapsed into silence. To be honest with you, Reader, it was torture for me. I am not in the habit of sitting five seconds in company without speaking, let alone half an hour. My mind was racing with so many things – my anxiety for Pedro, my fear that the Miss Millers would turn me away, my narrow escape from Old Jean. I couldn’t wait for the meeting to end. The minutes crawled by. To this day, I still do not know what signalled the end of the worship, but suddenly everyone was on their feet, greeting each other with good wishes for the morning ahead. As a stranger, I was surrounded by people warmly welcoming me to the congregation. Only the Miss Millers did not approach. They were standing in a huddle, conferring as to what they should do. I decided to grab the bull by the horns.
‘Miss Miller,’ I said loudly, curtseying to the sisters, ‘I’m so pleased to see you again.’
‘Child, dost thou know our dear sisters in Christ?’ asked the elderly man who had spoken in the meeting.
‘Indeed, I do, Mr –?’
‘Brother Andrew, child.’
‘I came all this way to see them, Brother Andrew,’ I confided.
Miss Miller senior, seeing me talking to one of the meeting house elders, bustled over.
‘Sister Patience, dost thou know this child?’ he asked, laying a fatherly hand on my shoulders. He glanced down at my bare, muddy feet. ‘She seems in some need.’
‘Indeed, I do, Brother Andrew. My sisters and I were just going to invite her to our house to refresh herself. Wilt thou come, Sister Catherine?’
‘Thank you.’ I felt a great sense of relief – my guess that the Miss Millers would not fail to help someone in distress had been right.
‘Ah, then thou shalt be blessed,’ Brother Andrew declared, raising his eyes to heaven, ‘for some of us have entertained angels unawares, thou knows it well.’
‘I’m sorry but I’m not an angel,’ I said quickly, not wanting him to get the wrong impression. I was probably the least angelic girl he’d ever meet.
‘Angels come in all guises, Sister Catherine,’ he said with a smile that felt like summer sunshine on that cold day. ‘Go with the sisters and take your rest.’
SCENE 3 – SILENCE IS GOLDEN
I followed the Miss Millers outside and trailed after them as they made their way back to their cottage. This was a pretty, rustic building with a thatched roof, whitewashed walls and lattice windows. A hedge of holly arched over the gate, looking very festive with its bright berries. Miss Miller opened the front door and waited as we all filed past her. She looked around to check no neighbours were watching, shut the door and turned to me, hands on her hips.
‘Well, this is a surprise. May I enquire what thou dost here?’
I laced my hands together, scrutinizing each sister in turn. Miss Miller was the most formidable – her expression alert, her movements vigorous. Miss Prudence was the most excitable: her eyes bright. Miss Fortitude was the most timorous – she looked plain scared. All of them looked honest – all of them trustworthy. This was essential for I was going to have to put my faith in them if I was going to tell them the truth.
‘I’ve been having a rather extraordinary few weeks since we last met,’ I confessed. ‘May I sit down and I’ll tell you what’s happened? All I ask is, at the end, you tell me if I can stay for a while.’
I took a deep breath and plunged into my tale.
‘In all my life, I’ve never heard anything like it!’ said Miss Miller when I’d finished.
‘You theatre types certainly lead interesting lives,’ said Miss Prudence, hugging herself with excitement. ‘I wish I’d seen you punch that bully!’
‘Prudence!’ rapped out Miss Miller severely. ‘Remember, we never approve of violence.’
Miss Fortitude got up without a word and filled the kettle.
‘What dost thou, sister?’ asked Miss Miller.
‘I’m preparing a bath for our guest,’ she replied meekly.
‘But we haven’t yet decided if she is to stay!’ protested her elder.
Miss Fortitude drew herself up to her full five feet and faced her sister. ‘Of course she stays. Our life is dedicated to helping those in distress. She has suffered because of the persecution of wicked men. Thou durst not turn her away.’
Miss Miller and Miss Prudence both looked shocked to hear their timid sister rebel, but then the elder regained her composure.
‘Sister Catherine, look what thou hast done! Thou hast been under our roof but an instant and already Drury Lane begins to work on my sisters.’ My stomach clenched in a knot of panic: was Miss Miller about to throw me out? Then her stern face relaxed into a smile as she turned to her youngest sister. ‘But well said, Fortitude. I have always thought thou art too compliant – thou dost what is right. But let us first use the water for tea, then a bath. Our sister has passed a comfortless night and is in more need of breakfast than cleanliness.’
‘But what will we tell our brothers and sisters?’ asked Miss Prudence. ‘Her connection to the theatre will be most difficult for us to explain.’
‘Then we say nothing on the subject. Indeed, my conscience is clear on this point for we are duty bound to keep silent. Sister Catherine’s origins must not be broadcast to the whole congregation – that would put her at risk,’ said Miss Miller.
Her sisters were very relieved by this comfortable doctrine.
‘You mean, silence is golden?’ I asked archly.
‘That’s precisely what I mean,’ smiled Miss Miller.
This pronouncement opened the gates on a flood of kindness from the sisters. Under their gentle ministrations, I was fed, washed and clothed. It was a particular relief to have a proper bath in front of the kitchen fire as I’d not had one for many months.